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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28016676">Darren Verres And The Rationalist's Vampire</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRisingSun777/pseuds/TheRisingSun777'>TheRisingSun777</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Cirque du Freak | The Saga of Darren Shan - Darren Shan</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 21:27:35</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,590</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28016676</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRisingSun777/pseuds/TheRisingSun777</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
      <p>Had a last name change halfway through the writing of this chapter. Hope anyone who finds it likes it!</p>
    </div></td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. A Beginning</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Had a last name change halfway through the writing of this chapter. Hope anyone who finds it likes it!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>As a child, one of my favorite things to do was research spiders. I'm even proud to say that I caught a few from the backyard. Most of my earlier experimentation was built around figuring out what they liked to eat. I often times fed them simple things, seeing how they reacted to larger prey, and what they would do when challenged in territory. There was even a point when I remember taking a few cardboard boxes, and trying to build them their own 'miniature biomes'. Unfortunately, none of these spiders ever lived too long, and this was before I ever learned how to properly ask the question of 'why'. </p><p>When I progressed in age, I think around the time of being seven or eight, my parents finally obliged in my desire, and brought me a tarantula. The first couple of months themselves were fine. I loved this spider, and would often feed him the things that I'd learned a spider might like. There came a day, however, when I made a fatal mistake. You see at this point in-time, I didn't understand the concept of mortality, or that of triangles when it came to my spider. Yes, I know, I'd seen plenty of other spiders die up until that point, but when it came to my tarantula, I didn't believe it could ever possibly die.</p><p>I'm saying this in specific to set-up what happened next. It was early in the morning, and I was holding my tarantula on my palm, expressing him to the great wide-open world. What happened then, was perhaps the worst thing that could happen to me at that age. A bird swooped down from high in the sky, snatching up the spider in its jaw, and without further hesitation, flying straight back off.</p><p>You see, I'm pointing out these events, to tell you a story. Often within life, animals that are smaller or weaker, will encounter something that is simply beyond them, more powerful than they could ever dream to be. That was my tarantula, forced to encounter a danger that it never asked for, put into a situation where it couldn't possibly react in-time. Oft within life, that is what we encounter, the incapability to react when we need to.</p><p>The people within my life were found within these situations often, far, far too often. Even I myself encountered it, forced into situations where I was made to be <em>smaller. </em>The only way a being like me could ever survive in those circumstances? Being <em>smarter.</em></p><p>My name is not Darren, however my last name is indeed Evans.</p><p>-</p><p>I sat in the bathroom, bouncing my foot, with a book placed directly on my legs. It was something to do with science, but I wasn't really paying attention. A couple of minutes ago, I'd been in English, my stomach crawling and wheezing with a weight that nearly made me keel. I'd raised my hand to go to the bathroom, and my teacher, Mr. Dalton, let me run as soon as I even inched my hand into the air.</p><p>The air I found in Mr. Dalton's class, was often different from most other places. Even home never managed to be relaxed as he made it. It was in such a fashion, that I found myself looking over the book. I'd tried at my best to get whatever was out of my stomach, but hadn't quite managed with anything. As such, I'd decided to stay in the bathroom for the last of the hour, overlooking whatever this book was trying to say.</p><p>"Ay, what the hell you doin' in there?" Came a friendly, not-so-kind voice.</p><p>"Just looking at this magazine I found your mom on!" I shouted back.</p><p>"Yo, shut it," Came the voice again, pounding on the door.</p><p>Steve. We'd been friends since elementary school. More specifically, we'd been friends ever since the 'cherry bomb incident'. It was an insane moment in elementary school, where Steve had blown up half of the bathroom. The best part about it, was that no one actually knew he did it. I had been there, however, and had arguably been the brains of the operation. We had been under the forced regulation to ask ourselves where the most strategic place to place a couple of cherry bombs would be. He had said the toilet, and I had instead pointed out the optimization of the trashcan, because you could store quite a couple, and, it would be flammable as hell.</p><p>"I think I'm reading a chemistry book? That, or its geology, and I'm just not paying any attention,"</p><p>"That sounds like you," He commented, banging on the door, "We have a little bit of free time, do you want to play on the field?"</p><p>"It's lunch already?" I asked, sitting myself up, and folding the book, "I don't know, I might need to go back and-"</p><p>"Shut up, you're playing, I already got your homework,"</p><p>When I opened the door, he had a grin on his face, and shoved two pieces of paper at me, "See? Told you I got it,"</p><p>I looked over the sheets of paper, and considered it for a moment, "Yeah, thanks!" His eyes widened in surprise, "For getting me this toilet paper too," I continued.</p><p>"Ah shit, no, don't!"</p><p>I dangled the piece of paper directly over the toilet for another couple of seconds, "Get Martin to do your homework, or some other kid, I'm not doin' it for you,"</p><p>"Fine, fine, but we should really get on the field, before lunch runs out,"</p><p>Smiling, I gave him his paper, and shoved mine in my pocket. We rushed out onto the field, and got into our positions. I studied the others, and the endless kick of the ball, before running in myself. I managed to kick at just the right angle, and send it flying underneath one of the kid's feet. It slipped past him, and Steve picked up the pace. He shot the first goal of the two of us..</p><p>We set up ourselves again, on a five to two, and this time, I ran in as hard as I could, kicking the soccer ball from the side of my opponent, and dribbling it as hard as I could to the other side. I dodged along the side of one of my opponent's with a smooth kick to the left, and followed through with a second goal, making a five to three. Just as we were setting up again, however, the bell rang.</p><p>One of the other kids picked up the ball, and walked with it. I moved over to Steve, finding him looking down at a piece of paper. He positioned it so that I might see it, and my eyes widened in mild confusion.</p><p>
  <strong>Cirque Du Freak</strong>
</p><p>-</p><p>The entry cost was two hundred dollars. That was the first thing that stuck out to me. There wasn't any age limit, interestingly. Steve was handling it semi-carefully, keeping it under his desk. He promised he would show it to some other kids after school too, though he seemed hesitant to tell them the address. When he was done showing it off in the before-class timing, he folded it up, and shoved it in his pocket.</p><p>"Mr. Dalton probably wouldn't like to see us talking about it," He whispered to me.</p><p>It was true. He'd probably go on some sort of melodramatic spiel about how the generic labellings of freak circuses, and other such commodities were the worst thing a person could come up with, people labelled as circus freaks often had actual disabilities, and all of these other things. So, in lieu of logic, and not losing his poster, he shoved it in his pocket, and made sure no one else was talking about it when class started.</p><p>-</p><p>"Where the hell did you get it Steve?" I asked, as we walked through the hallway.</p><p>"Why do you sound so angry?"</p><p>"It's a freak show..I don't know, feel like I gotta act it, at least for a moment," I replied lamely, "Still, where did you get it?"</p><p>"I bought it off of Alan. That one kid we knew last year,"</p><p>"The one who ended up dive bombing into..."</p><p>"Yeah, that one,"</p><p>I thought about that for a moment, "I thought...Didn't he, I don't know, completely disappear off the face of the planet after that?"</p><p>"Funny thing is, I thought he did too! But then he showed up, seemed a little bit pale, and ended up giving me this flyer. Honestly, he seemed a little bit scared...Don't know why though,"</p><p>"Huh,"</p><p>"Huh is damn right Evans! He was wearing sunglasses that obscured his eyes, and his fingers were all twitchy and everything. When he spoke he had this weird damn rasp too. Still bought it off of him. Only ended up costing me around three dollars," He replied, as we pushed open the doors to the world at large.</p><p>"So, druggy Alan is a cheap bastard. I'll make notes if I ever get the chance to con him," I replied, turning the paper over, looking for something, "Where are the dates for this thing anyways?"</p><p>"It's in the bottom left-corner, in like, a month or two,"</p><p>I nodded, and grabbed my bike, "Cool. You gonna do anything to try to make some money up for it, or do I gotta do this alone?"</p><p>He laughs, "Of course I'm doing some work on the side,"</p><p>"Fine. It better not be like that Game Set you forced me to buy on my own,"</p><p>We laugh a bit, as we start riding towards our perspective homes.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Competing Business</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Verres and Leopard find themselves leading a miniature capitalist system.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Two corners of the block, the beginning and the end. Two boys, and lemonade shops; we didn't have the permits. It was near summer, we both just kinda assumed that the lemonade business would be booming. But of course, as reality seems to present, the only people we ended up selling to, were a random lady, and for Leopard, some weird dude in a black pickup truck. </p><p>After awhile of thinking (and admittedly using up half of an old notebook), I ended up coming up with a business strategy. The fact of the matter was, I was only focusing on lemonade, and I wasn't really covering the entire block. Only a selective people went down my route, and towards my house, which meant I was automatically at a disadvantage within the market schema. I told Steve about this too. We needed to spread out, to get farther onto either side of our respective neighborhood, and maybe encounter more customers.</p><p>Steve went all the way to one edge, and I went to the other. We set ourselves up, and started getting ready for yet another day. I already had my lemonade pitcher, but had as well brought some pumpkin bread I had tried making last night. It didn't taste all that good (honestly), but buying customers wouldn't know about that, so it didn't really matter. Steve had tried making brownies as well (on my insistence), and so we had set ourselves up.</p><p>I had a cost of five dollars with one banana bread slice per each buy. Already, I was starting to encounter a problem. There were a couple of kids on this part of the neighborhood who had come up with five dollars each, and I was already starting to run out of banana bread. However, I did have twenty five dollars in my possession. After a couple of people in cars had driven by, I noticed how close I was to the edge of the main street, and moved back a bit. I managed to get one random dude to buy my banana bread and some of the lemonade. At this point, the sun was starting to set over the horizon, and I didn't really think that many people were going to try to buy from me. I started packing everything up (folding a bunch of cardboard boxes, and balancing a tray of banana bread with a lemonade pitcher).</p><p>"How much did you get?" I inquired, as we looked over the stack of bills in-front of us.</p><p>"I tried to rob a kid blind, and lost like half of mine. His mother said I was pricing too much, and screeched at me..couldn't really argue with that shit,"</p><p>"Language!" My mom yelled from the other room.</p><p>"...Anyways, I got like, thirty dollars,"</p><p>"Really?" I asked, looking over my own bills.</p><p>"Yeah,"</p><p>"I got about the same. So we're up to sixty dollars. If we keep this up..."</p><p>"We might get absolutely nowhere. I'm betting busin...." He paused, his eyes lighting up slightly, "We should go to the local pool!"</p><p>"Holy-" I paused, remembering my mom was in the other room, "Dude, that's perfect! D-does your mom have any lemonade mix?"</p><p>"No, I don't think so..." He noticed the problem, "Oh, so I guess we're gonna have to spend...Somewhere around three of our thirty to get the mix, maybe six, if we want to pack enough to keep us going for the entire day,"</p><p>"That, and we're probably going to want to make more brownies, or banana bread, or something..."</p><p>"I think my mom still has one packet for the brownie mix, so it's about five dollars more for another," He sounded really bored as we calculated everything.</p><p>"Hmm...That leaves us with, what?</p><p>"Forty nine dollars, if we're not accounting for tax,"</p><p>"My babies are becoming ripe young business men, aren't they?" My mom said in a semi-sarcastic swooning tone.</p><p>"Yes!" Steve said flambuoyantly beside me, "Now, Margaret, we'd like our coffees medium roasted, wit-" I hit him across the shoulder.</p><p>"That's not what secretaries are for, you dumba..." My mom glared, "Head, you dumb head,"</p><p>"I never said she was a Secretary. Maybe she's our intern, you never know,"</p><p>"if so, I'd have her running accounting and management to figure out the base structures. Or maybe she'd be running a simulational model of-"</p><p>"Hah, that's if everything was perfect," He replies, taking a sip from a cup sitting in-front of him.</p><p>"Here, put this into the mix," My mom says after a chuckle, throwing a ten dollars into our stack.</p><p>-</p><p>Two lemonade stands, and two boys without a permit. Everything seemed to be going fine, for the first half. In-fact, after everything was said and done, we had around a hundred dollars. It was a useful amount of money to be holding onto, one could admit. the not-so-fine thing, were the three men in blue uniforms that showed up. They were staring us down. We talked with them politely, and gained a great understanding when it came to the law, and everything surrounding it. It seemed, we were an unlicensed business. The great thing about the two men, was that they were willing to let this slide, so long as we didn't sell outside of our neighborhood. We still had one-hundred in our hands though.</p><p>"How much you wanna bet, that if we had gone for the rest of the day, we would've made it?"</p><p>"Sixty," Steve says bitterly.</p><p>"We still have half of two lemonade pitchers..." I trail off.</p><p>"Yeah, a lot of good that shit'll do us," He scowling in the sort of way that makes him properly terrifying. </p><p>He takes one of the pitchers, and throws the contents over the side of the pool, splashing it near one of the people inside. I look towards the police, who luckily aren't exactly looking at us at the moment. My thoughts are carefully swirling. The poster said that you needed two hundred dollars for one person, and a guest, so what we're raising for shouldn't be all that difficult. All we really need now, is one-hundred more. A hundred dollars can't be that difficult to raise, right? Well no, it can be...</p><p>"We should pawn some things off," I quickly decide, hoping it might quell his anger a bit.</p><p>"What?"</p><p>"Look for some mildly valuable shit that we might own, drive over to the local pawn shop, and pawn things off. Like, maybe we can get something valuable on our hands, I don't know...Just, think about it. Maybe you can take your PS1-"</p><p>"Hell no,"</p><p>"Yeah, okay, that one's fair. But I'm sure we can find <em>something, </em>right? It's business, and if we can sell it, than we end up better than we were earlier,"</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>If you find this, please tell me what you think!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. A Nice Day</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Darren And Steve hand out outside of a fast food joint, talking about money, and enjoying the sunlight.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>They were lucky. Perhaps the luckiest they could possibly be. it had taken five rare pokemon cards, one almost-buried baseball card, and quite a couple of other trinkets, to get them as much money as they had. At the moment, they stood with one hundred and fifty dollars. Meaning, all they really needed left, was fifty more. </p><p>"I could steal it from my mom," Steve said beside him.</p><p>"There's a lot of smarter way to do things, that don't inevitably end up with you getting in trouble at a later point in-time," I pointed out reasonably.</p><p>"Like..." He waved his hands through the air, motioning me to get along with it.</p><p>"Begging," I supplied with a half-smile.</p><p>"Oh, yeah, sure...I'll just go to my mom, and <em>beg </em>her to let me go to the freakshow. As if Evans,"</p><p>We were sitting on the side of the curb, each eating a burger. It had taken a little bit out of the money that we had, but no so much as to make it obvious. We still sat that small bit above fifty. My numbering isn't exact, but as I'm writing this, I can't really remember the exact numbers that we had been sitting at. All I <em>honestly </em>remember about the numbering, is that we were close, and yet so damn far.</p><p>"You...know you're not obligated to honesty, right? Like, I thought you of all people would <em>know-</em>"</p><p>"Shut up Darren," He says with a little bit of a smile, "i was trying to make some grandiose claim about how 'Steve doesn't beg to nobody',"</p><p>"Awe, and let me guess, big bad Darren Evans ruined that claim?" I stood up, and threw away my wrapper, "Tell ya what, you're more than definitely going to be the one who begs, just because of that,"</p><p>"No fuckin' way. <em>You're </em>doing the begging, because you're the pansy ass planning one,"</p><p>I grinned, and took a bite out of one of my fries, "Nope, not gonna happen,"</p><p>"C'mon Verres, Jesus. I. Am. Not. Begging," He sounded genuinely angry with that last bit, and even took a gigantic bite out of his burger for dramatic effect.</p><p>"You need therapy dude," I commented, eating a fry.</p><p>"Yeah, and that 'therapy', might just involve punching you in the stomach a couple of times," He commented with a bit of a smile.</p><p>"I can beat you in a fight, we both know it,"</p><p>"No. The last time we fought, you cheated,"</p><p>"I did not," I commented, leaving it at that.</p><p>"You totally <em>did. </em>You kicked <em>sand </em>into my <em>eyes, </em>and then hit me with a piece of wood. I would more than definitely call that cheating," Steve says, taking another bite just as he swallows the first.</p><p>I groan over exaggeratedly, "We've been over this! I was using my environment, and your approach was absolutely tactless,"</p><p>The fight in question, had been awhile back, when we'd been camping with one another. After awhile of talking about who was going to get the last piece of the hershey's bars for their s'mores, we had come to an inevitable conclusion (well, inevitable in our own eyes), we would fight for it. Neither of us were exactly known for holding back on one another when it came to fighting. In steve's words 'holding back only makes one of us weaker, and that wouldn't exactly be fair'. So each of us had fought with all of his brawn, and all of my brain. He had landed a few punches before then, and I had almost felt like giving up; that was, until I saw the gigantic stick on the ground, and the little sparkling of the sand too. My brain had filled in the gaps, and I kicked up the sand. I hadn't exactly planned on it hitting his eyes, but when it did, I was almost kind of glad. My hands wrapped around the stick, and I ended up beating the living shit out of him, until he called me 'uncle'. After watching a few old school movies, it became our favorite give up plea.</p><p>"Yeah, sure, but without your fancy 'tactics', I'd more than definitely win," Steve said, taking a sip of his shake.</p><p>"Okay, fine, in a situation where I don't have any tricks up my sleeve, you might technically be able to beat me,"</p><p>He nods, "So that means you're the one who's going to beg,"</p><p>"What? No!"</p><p>"You just conceited defeat on a social basis. Therefore you're the one who has to beg,"</p><p>"Oh that is utter bullshit leonard," I said, grabbing my own drink, and taking off the lid.</p><p>"Don't do what-"</p><p>I threw my milkshake through the air, landing it across him, and some of my fries. I put those in my mouth before he could do anything.</p><p>"Yu can' Hut me, migh' cho'e," I said, as he jumped on top of me.</p><p>"Damn you,"</p><p>"Yesh. Now be',"</p><p>He laughed a bit, as he pushed off of me, "Annoying ass,"</p><p>"Maybe," I said, as I gulped down the fries.</p><p>He promptly shoved me.</p><p>"How about this, we both beg," Steve said, as he got up, shaking some of the shake out of his hair.</p><p>"Hmm...I'll think about it,"</p><p>He sighed, "Do you have to be this difficult? I'm trying to come to a compromise, or something," He began acting all distraught, furrowing his brows, and lowering his head just a bit.</p><p>"Oh, yeah, sure, and the moment I hold up my end of the bargain, you'll do absolutely nothing,"</p><p>"You know me too well,"</p><p>"That's what friends are for," I say with a smile.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>If you see it, tell me what you think!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. A Complex Analysis of Probability</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Darren starts thinking too much about the likelihood of their situation.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Steve was kicking the ball in-front of me. We were on opposite sides today. My thoughts were swishing around in my head, as I thought about what Steve had described when he first got the poster. What were the odds of something like that, right? It just didn't seem like that big of a likelihood, especially when you assigned the fact that both of us had assumed our old friend was dead. The likelihood of someone going from death and back to life was so infinitesimally small, especially if you assumed that that person had been dead for quite awhile. It moved around my mind like a wildfire, setting off other carefully placed questions which seemed to move around to the areas in which I would much rather not think about.</p><p>When the end of the game came, and we were walking inside, Steve asked me something along the lines of 'what's wrong', and I gave him some noncommittal reply, something along the lines that nothing was wrong. But something was, and I couldn't place my fingers on it. There was simply no way that we would end up getting that, without something interfering with the causation at the ending of the equation. I guess if I thought about it from a more detached standpoint, it just didn't make sense. I was beginning to notice that I was confused, and was surprised I hadn't asked this question earlier. Steve was lying, it seemed like the most logical standpoint to come from, he had to be, that was the only thing that made everything make sense. But why would he be lying about where the poster had come from. Was all of this a con? If so, the two hundred dollars we raised would be utterly useless. Maybe he wanted my conjoined effort to buy a new console or something. I would just have to wait and see.</p><p>The rest of the day went by in a flash, and then I was in my bedroom, with a spider-tank sitting beside me. A tarantula crawled out from underneath some kind or rock, and I looked towards him. Today was one of his better days. His legs were still moving from underneath him, and he wasn't curled up in the other side of his tank. I often tried to figure out what was wrong, reading through my books, and trying to figure out <em>something, </em>but I was often led towards the same conclusion. He's getting old, and the older he grows, the worse his body works against him. I supposed, in some way, he was privileged enough to live this long. When he died, if he could feel something, it would likely be of, well, realistically, pain, but metaphorically, the joy of a long-lived life.</p><p>My thoughts were disturbed for a moment, when the random lingering sensation of probability once more came into my mind. I hadn't seen a single one of those fliers before Steve got his, what was more, I hadn't seen one <em>after, </em>either. This meant that the fliers weren't common, and the friend-who-had been dead, how much of a likelihood did he have of finding one. Hell, where had Steve seen him?</p><p>I got up after the thoughts rushed through my mind, and went outside. Getting onto my bike, I resolved to ride over to his house and ask.</p><p>He looked tired when I opened the door, but the response was what I had expected it. Down the part of town that we technically weren't supposed to go to. An almost-abandoned part of our town, where 'dangerous people' lived. Dangerous meaning they smoked weed, which is a rather ridiculous definition of danger, but tell that to overprotective parents. Maybe you could call them dangerous if they smoked meth, or allowed underaged kids to smoke their weed, but they didn't...Most of the time.</p><p>My adventure led me directly to that side of town. I rode past some of the buildings, checked in alleyways, even opened the door to the old theater, and yet...Found nothing. There were no littered posters, and not a single hint of the posters that might allow some sort of calculative in probability. I couldn't even get <em>numbers, </em>because the number was sitting at an utter zero in its multiplicative.</p><p>"What're you doin' around these parts, young man?"</p><p>I looked over, finding myself staring at an overly large man. He was so large, in-fact, that the feature itself seemed completely over exaggerated to every account. His face appeared normal, although he did wear a very big hat on-top of his head. He seemed...Like a show runner, to some extent. Yeah, he seemed like the man who would be leading this sort of place. I stared towards him silently, walking away.</p><p>"I...I..."</p><p>"Now, young man, I assure you that you have no need to be afraid. I do not bite,"</p><p>I blinked, long and slow, "I wasn't insinuating that you do. You needing to mention that seems...Interesting," No matter how terrified I was, my sarcasm found a way to take over.</p><p>The man laughed, a loud, yet somehow comforting sound, "Ah, true, true. I will be on my way, and I trust you might be on yours?"</p><p>"Yes, sorry...I was just, trying to make a calculation,"</p><p>The man nods, says some other words, and starts to walk away. Yet before he completely disappears, he pulls a bunch of fliers out from under his arm.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>This is going to be one of my favorite chapters to write as of the moment (writing this before)</p><p>Let me know what you think of it!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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